“Fuck!”
“I beg your pardon, Doctor?”
The AI’s voice startles me, and for some stupid reason, I blush.
“I wasn’t addressing you, Maggie. Sorry.”
Did I just apologize? What the hell is the matter with me?
I was so absorbed in my review of Chloe’s test results that I forgot I am in the medical bay.
Sitting back in my chair, I rub my tired eyes.
“What’s the time?”
“04:00, ship time.”
“Shit.”
I’ve been at this all night. Chambers is expecting my answer in three hours. He hasn’t said so, but I know he’s decided to go with Umbra’s plan. Allowing me the time to review my data in the hope I catch something I overlooked is just him giving me the space to accept the situation.
Picking up the pad once more, I try to focus on it, but the numbers blur together. The details don’t really matter. None of the results show any indication that I am on the right track. I’m groping in the dark, and it frustrates the hell out of me.
Even Tessa, as brilliant as she is, can see nothing obvious that we’ve missed. There is a critical piece of insight that eludes us, and neither of us can guess what it might be. We could trip over it in a moment of inspiration after the next experiment, or we could labour for years without a hint of a solution.
Willis used a new and undocumented technology to manufacture his nanites. Reverse engineering what he’s done is akin to a Neanderthal attempting to derive Kepler’s laws of celestial mechanics.
There is no other choice available. If I want to help Chloe, Umbra’s plan is the only practical solution.
And what frustrates me is that it is only an opportunity. There is no guarantee that I will find anything helpful when I arrive at Rhea. Willis could’ve purged the archive, or perhaps Rhea’s Vault is simply a ruse. The son of a bitch likes to keep people dancing to his tune.
On Phobos, he told me something that still doesn’t make sense. He said that the only reason he didn’t kill me is because I am Chloe’s only chance to survive. If she dies, I die, is the way he put it.
Why? Did he imply that the problem is within my capacity to solve? If it is, I can’t see how.
Or was he messing with my head? The guy is a psychopath. He may well want me to chase my tail for nothing more than his own pleasure. There is no way to know. The only thing I can be certain of is that I am out of ideas. And time.
Sooner or later, Anthony Cabot will learn what happened to his daughter. He’ll send his assassins to cut all of our throats.
Why do I resist accepting that Umbra’s plan is our only way out of this situation?
Pride? Did I accept Willis’s taunt as a challenge? Is my ego getting in the way?
I don’t know.
If Willis honestly meant that I am capable of solving this problem, he displays more faith in me than I do.
I rub my temples to ease my growing headache.
Going to the medicine cabinet, I find an analgesic. Leaning against the counter, I ponder.
What will I tell Chambers?
Even if we go to Rhea, and if by some unlikely chance find a cure for Chloe, none of this does anything to address what must be his biggest concern: what happened to his sister?
The cynic in me sees the reason he is eager to save Chloe. She’s his meal ticket. Reviving her revives the search for Nancy. I’m betting Umbra’s claim he possesses information about her is bullshit. That leaves Chloe’s trust fund as the only remaining means of finding the missing woman.
A quiet knock at the door yanks me from my thoughts.
“Hi, Schmaltzy,” I say, trying to smile.
“Hey, Mel; mind if I come in for something?”
“Uh, sure, help yourself. What are you looking for?”
He goes to the utility drawer and rummages around before he pulls out a small box. “I need some small-gauge screws, and I remember that I used some to fix one of your medical machines last month—ah, here’s one.”
He triumphantly holds up a tiny screw.
I squint at it. “Glad I could help. What’s it for?”
“Oh, one of the components on Chloe’s cyro-chamber is acting up. This should solve the problem.”
“I guess it’s fortunate there’s nothing more critically wrong with the equipment.”
“This is just anticipatory. The more I go over that machine, the more worried I become that something major will break down that I won’t be able to repair. If I can catch things like this early, the odds of avoiding unpleasant surprises are better.”
He smiles around his cigar and leaves me, not noticing my taciturn mood.
There is no longer any doubt in my mind as to what I must do. It appears that I am going to Rhea.
